(Read by F. Curtis)
A Reading Of The Passion Of Our Lord
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O sacred Head, now wounded
With grief and shame weighed down
Now scornfully surrounded
With thorns, Thine only crown
How art Thou pale with anguish
With sore abuse and scorn!
How do those features languish
Which once was bright as morn!
What Thou, my Lord, has suffered
Was all for sinners’ gain
Mine was the transgression
But Thine the deadly pain
Lo, here I fall, my Savior!
‘Tis I deserve Thy place
Look on me with Thy mercy
And save me by Thy grace.What language shall I borrow
To thank thee, dearest friend,
For this thy dying sorrow,
This love knows no end!
O, make me thine forever!
And should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never,
Outlive my love to thee!
‘Tis I deserve Thy place
Look on me with Thy mercy
And save me by Thy grace.What language shall I borrow
To thank thee, dearest friend,
For this thy dying sorrow,
This love knows no end!
O, make me thine forever!
And should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never,
Outlive my love to thee!
Hymn: Beneath The Cross Of Jesus